The Gringott's Dragon Records
by LegendsofKorrigans
Summary: What happened to the dragon after it escaped Gringotts? Its thoughts and adventures were miraculously recorded in a largely interpretative interview, which led to this admittedly 'imaginative' novelization.
1. Introduction

**A/N:** Dunno if this is innovative or not, but I felt like doing it.

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 _Dear inquisitive wizard or witch, be you young or old, optimistic or cynical, interested in magical creatures or not, we will assure you that time spent reading the following text will be not only educational, but at the very least mildly intriguing. Through great effort, we've managed to keep that leech, Mrs. Skeeter, as far away from this text as we could, and thusly kept it as faithful to not only the events of its source, but the spirit, as possible. Presented herein is the aftermath of an extraordinary breakthrough in the field of Care of Magical Creatures: two years ago, English dragonologist Charles Weasley was able to conduct a semi-coherent interview with a dragon of the Ukrainian Ironbelly species. As of yet, this feat has not been replicated, but experts in Magical Creatures are working feverishly to change that. The interview, which was originally translated in syntax and grammar that neither Mr. Weasley nor his Romanian colleagues could make much of, was gradually deciphered and organized into recognizable language, at which point both the scientific and cultural intrigue regarding it grew exponentially. It became clear that this dragon was the very specimen that escaped from Gringotts Wizarding Bank in 1998, along with hero of the wizarding world Harry Potter and his friends, and disappeared into the English countryside. The text to follow this introduction, adapted from the interview, is a novelization, which we will now declare takes certain creative liberties in order to fill in blanks and give additional detail to the events vaguely described by the titular dragon. So without further ado, Murdock Publisher proudly presents its first contribution to the sorcerer's arsenal of literature: The Gringott's Dragon Records!_

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 **A/N:** One review and Murdock will write a real first chapter.


	2. Fly

_Publisher's Note: Since the decoded interview was written as the dragon's personal account, the author has deemed it most appropriate to retell its story in first person. This has regrettably lead to further inaccuracies, but we believe they've been kept to a minimum. Enjoy._

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Chapter 1: Fly

The world was beautiful once.

At least, I choose to believe as much. It's all that's keeping me sane in this damn prison – no, vault. That's what they call it. I've been here so long, it hurts to think about it. One… no, two hundred years at least. I don't remember feeling real wind on my scales, or drinking water from a stream, or the touch of soft earth beneath my claws. Only this cold, heavy darkness; stone in every direction as far as these ailing eyes can see. I'll die soon, I know it – no matter what they inject me with, no drug but the sun could reunite me with hope.

Oh, someone's here. I hear the cart creaking away across the rails, suspended many metres over the stone. Is it the witch? That foul hag, Lestrange? I swear, if she dares to poke her hideous mask of a face around that corner again, I will incinerate her, curse or no curse. She doesn't curse me when anyone else is around; I can only hope she's brought company.

What luck; it's a trio of good humans – two males and one female – and two lumpy little goblins. They look young, but not newly hatched; they're much bigger than the ugly goblin. I do wish he would stop jingling that chime at me; it's only getting on my nerves. I was about to settle down for my (insert-time-of-day) nap, but now here they are, jingling around my corner like a merry little parade. It's moderately cute, I'll concede, and therefore I'll give them a good five seconds before they're charbroiled. One; two; three; four – what's this? The female seems to be lightly protesting my incarceration. All right, I'll give them a few more se – Blood and Fire, they escaped into that little iron doorway! I keep telling myself I'm too lenient. Five seconds, old reptile, and no more.

It's not important – I'll just get them when they come out. Human meat is generally quite stringy, and smells awful when roasted, but the goblins have utterly failed to feed me properly. No one'll miss a couple of humans and another warty little blob.

What? Do my ears deceive me? I hear more carts approaching. Oho! More goblins? This'll make for a merry feast indeed. I lick my lips, turn up the heat in the back of my throat and –

These interruptions have to cease now. What is it this time? I turn my head to see the two goblins, who came with the young humans, jingling their way back around the edge. I have decided that this is quite enough jingling for one day, and when one is too slow I serve him a steady stream of fiery death. Until I feel something on my back. Or rather, three somethings.

What?! Who would be foolish enough to – ah, yes: the folly of adolescence. How unfortunate I never got my share – anytime I tried something during those first fifty reckless years, it would be a cruciatus curse to the snout. Nevertheless, they must be punished. I start rolling my shoulders, readying myself to heave them off my back, when the goblins start slinging spells at me.

Okay, no.

I rear my head back and scream fire into their midst, scattering them like the little parasites they were and turning a good few to ash. I hate goblins. The spells keep coming from the living ones, and I have to admit that it's painful. A hundred years ago I would barely have felt it at all… but then, a hundred years ago my scales weren't starting to flake off. This, I predicted, would be a terrible day.

The human female is shouting something – what? Oh.

Oh.

The chains binding my feet, wings and head are no longer binding my feet, wings and head. It takes a few seconds for the implications of this to sink in.

Then I smile inwardly, bunch every muscle in my limbs and explode upwards.

The humans and goblins alike scream in terror. I scream too – in exhilaration. I don't know if I'll see the sun again, but I can at least give my life trying to. My wing claws dig deep into the sheer rock face as I ascend, hauling myself upwards wing over wing. The cavernous vault echoes with the sound of my power. I may be weak, but by all the Elder Scales, I am still a dragon. Every handhold feels more secure than the one before it.

Directly above me is a wall of solid stone. In a split second I decide I'm going to bash my head against it until one of us gives. I begin to do so, sending tremors reverberating down the sheer surface I'm clinging to. My uninvited passengers are screaming louder. Good. Let them feel my strength. I feel the wall above starting to give, and, three vicious headbutts later, I surge into the falling debris, desperately hoping this is the right place.

As sunlight hits my eyes for the first time in two hundred years, I know it is.

I burst through the marbled floor into an enormous room roofed by a skylight. A grand chandelier, high above the floor, created additional light. Created, because my head has just smashed through it. All around me there are goblins shrieking, people running for cover and papers flying in every direction. I let out a jet of flame, roasting some people for good measure, bellow and proceed to crash through the ceiling onto the roof.

I rest there for a moment, catching my breath and surveying my surroundings. Tiled rooftops, as far as these eyes can see. Even though that's not saying much, it's still a bit disheartening to see how much these soft, fleshy creatures have conquered with their ugly, shiny machines and dextrous little hands. I bare my teeth in anger; partly at their need to possess, and partly at my own naïve hope that Man hadn't moved forward so quickly. My nostrils flare and my lungs fill with air. I feel strong now that the wind is touching my hide, and I know now for certain that I am free. Something shocks the tip of my tail, and I lurch forward, deciding to leave this filthy place as soon as possible.

I beat my wings once, in practice, and then launch myself from the shattered skylight with a low roar. There's a sharp pain as my belly scales scrape against the rooftops, and I struggle to stay aloft for a moment. Then my wings catch the wind, and I start rising skyward.

I roar again, at last feeling the beginnings of joy rising in my huge chest. Yes! Yes, this is freedom. The sky is my father, lifting me out of the thorns that held me, and as I beat my wings once more, the entire world unfolds beneath me. The ground blurs, the rooftops long gone, and I allow the experience of free flight to envelop me. I soar over a lake, and looking down take a moment to admire my reflection in the water. It's terribly blurry, given my poor vision, but I can still tell I probably look quite menacing given my size in relation to that of the… the what?

Ah, yes, the humans on my back. What are they planning? I'll eat them as soon as I land, of course; there is no way off my – what? They jumped! Inconceiva – no, I could have foreseen that, never mind. I bend my neck in order to look at their plummeting figures. There they go, down, down… sploosh, right into that cold, deep water. Despite myself, I think I'm rather happy I didn't end up eating them; they never harmed me, though I generally object flammably to the presence of hitchhikers. I watch them resurface and decide they're not worth going back for, turning my attention back to the horizon.

Where am I from? I must find out somehow. Perhaps there is another dragon nearby who might inform me as to my origins, or a human map that could spark some kind of memory. Anyways, those are secondary concerns. I'm quite tired… where could I rest? I suppose any mountaintop will do. There's a nice flatter-looking one down there, if I could just circle right and land – yes.

I yawn loudly and mold my gargantuan body as best I can around the ridged peak of the mountain. Thankfully, my scales and the rock together seem to be providing sufficient traction for me to sleep here without worry of slipping and suffering lethal injury. I'd spend more time looking for a roost, but I am… so flaming tired. As I close my eyes, rain, so gentle I can barely feel it on my bony hide, starts falling around me. I'm too tired to worry about it; my claws grip the earth a bit harder, and I drift off into the first peaceful sleep I've had in two centuries, filled with pleasant dreams of crunching up the Lestrange woman and charring her bones to dust.


End file.
